Nowhere to Go
by Vindalootoo
Summary: This is an AH...Alternate History, rather than a true AU. It branches from the anime canon to explore one answer to the question: What if Shu didn’t opt to go to Hiro after his rape? Chapter 3: Catch me before I fall.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fanfiction based on Maki Murakami's exquisite story "Gravitation." I take no profit other than enjoyment.

**Warning:** Adult language and themes

**A/N:** This is an AH...Alternate History, rather than a true AU. It branches from the anime canon to explore one answer to the question: What if Shu didn't opt to go to Hiro at the end of Track Six?

It's not in any way related to my "Yushu" future history for the boys.

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴  
**Nowhere To Go**  
by Vindaloo  
✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

Chapter 1  
**The Delivery**

"Yuki Eiri-san?" The disgustingly cheerful tone of the uniformed beat cop standing in his doorway had absolutely no excuse for existence this early in the morning.

Eiri grunted and scratched his head absently, seeking focusing eyeballs and functional vocal chords.

"I believe I have something that belongs to you."

"I doubt that." Ah. Sound. One out of two wasn't bad. Of one thing, he was quite certain: if he'd been robbed last night, he'd've remembered it. He hadn't been _that_ drunk.

The cop's grin widened. Damn, he looked familiar. Oh, yeah, he was the one from the park, the one who'd delivered ... _him_. Twice.

The cop reached behind him and pulled a pink-haired mop-top up beside him.

Make that ... _three_ times.

"Fuck." Eiri muttered. "Thought I got rid of you."

Curiously, there was no loud, whining response from the ejected freeloader, just a wince of the narrow shoulders. But then, considering the circumstances under which they'd parted, Eiri wasn't particularly surprised.

"I found him sleeping in the park again." The cop's big grin, however, vanished into a puzzled frown. "Funny. Always thought he was a sun-worshiper, not a star-gazer."

"The _park?_" Eiri stifled his horror, finding relief in a taunt. "Shit, baka, thought you'd at least make it as far as that Hiro guy's—"

A choking sound rose from the bent head, followed by a muttered, _"Excuse . . . please . . . sor—"_

And the walking mop raced past him (much too quickly for his morning reflexes to stop), making a bee-line for the bathroom, leaving a cloud of . . . stench . . . behind him.

Oh, joy. A stinking, ejected freeloader.

The unmistakable sounds of projectile vomiting echoed through the apartment.

A _hungover_, stinking, ejected freeloader.

"Damn." The cop was staring down the hall after Shindou. "I didn't know he was sick. He _was _awfully quiet, especially for him. Thought he was just still half-asleep. . . ."

Buddha protect him from helpful public servants.

"Look," Yuki rubbed the bridge of his nose then scraped his hair back. There was nothing for it, but: "Thanks for . . . uh . . . bringing him . . . home. Okay? I'd better go . . ." He waved a hand vaguely toward the hall. ". . . take care of him.." He scratched his head again, willing the pounding away. "Or something."

"Yeah." But the cop still had that worried look on his face as he turned from the door and headed for his car.

That kid had the damnedest ability to inspire the paternal instincts of people who gave a shit.

Fortunately, Yuki Eiri was not one of those people.

The disgusting sounds had stopped. The john had flushed twice, and the sound of running water was promising. Maybe the idiot would actually clean up after himself for once.

"Don't you dare come out of there without taking a shower, you annoying baka. You stink to high heaven. Throw your clothes out and I'll toss them in the machine." Which meant, dammit, he'd have to wait until they were dry before tossing _Shindou _out the door—again. "What the hell were you thinking, letting him bring you here?"

Oh, good, he was throwing up again.

"Laid it on proper last night, didn't you?" He grunted, beating down that damned paternal reaction he refused to have, and leaned his shoulders against the doorjamb, awaiting the idiot's laundry. "Didn't know you had it in you. Getting tossed out upset you that much, did it? Trust me, you'll thank me—"

The door opened, and the clothing in question appeared at floor level. A small, wet hand pushed it clear, then jerked back inside, and the door shut again. The clothing was soaking, as if he'd already rinsed it out.

"Glug. Why'd you do that?" He picked the water-heavy fabric up gingerly, avoiding contact as much as he could and hurried it down the hall to the small laundry nook. From the stains, the idiot must've been rolling in the gutter last night. Such a charming mental picture. And now the mud and grease were clogging his bathroom sink.

How special.

He measured out the soap, shut the lid, then leaned both hands on the machine, closing his eyes against the pain of unwanted morning. Dammit, his feelings toward that filthy, vomiting lump weren't paternal. They were anything but. Problem was, feelings didn't change reality. They'd been living a fantasy, he and Shuuichi, and gotten away with it for an entire month. But reality was about to come crashing in and Shindou Shuuichi did _not_ want to be in the fall out zone.

Yuki Eiri, popular and well-established romance writer, could survive a scandal of this nature, but Shindou Shuuichi, lead singer in a band whose first single had barely hit the stands, could not. He and Shuuichi _had_ to split up and let Seguchi Touma's devious genius and NG-Pro's publicity department silence the gossips.

For Shuuichi's sake.

Somehow, he had to get that simple fact through the thick pink head, and one thing was certain: a rational explanation wouldn't cut it.

That's why he'd declared his hatred and thrown Shuuichi out...

Eiri pushed himself away from the machine and closed the door on the noise.

...That was his story and he was sticking to it.

He headed back for the kitchen and his patented morning-after cocktail of V8 laced with salt and sugar. It was utterly disgusting, but did wonders for electrolyte balance. Two, one for him, one for the bathroom freeloader.

By the time he had it ready, Shuuichi had finished his shower. He rapped on the bathroom door, his 'ignore me at your peril' knock, and the door cracked open.

"Here." He shoved the glass through and felt cold fingers take it, enough cold fingers to account for both hands.

"Thanks." It was a breathy whisper, and just that one word, no more, before the door clicked shut again between them.

Eiri shrugged, and headed for the kitchen, his coffee machine, and a long overdue cigarette. He contemplated putting together a real breakfast, then decided he'd best wait and find out what emerged from the bathroom, opting for coffee and a cigarette out on his balcony.

It was, he admitted reluctantly, a beautiful morning. Birds singing cheerily, the wind rustling the leaves in the park below... The heavy late night downpour had cleared the air. The front had brought in cool air along with the rain, and every surface sparkled.

Last night, it had been downright cold.

What in hell had induced the idiot to spend the night in the park? Eiri had assumed he'd go home to his parents' house, or, more likely, to Nakano's. Of course, maybe he had. Maybe Nakano Hiroshi was lying out there somewhere, equally plastered.

He supposed he'd be forced to call Touma, put him onto the possible demise of his new band, but, hey, those were the breaks.

He caught a hint of movement within, Shuuichi surfacing at last, and waited to be accosted, here on balcony, steeling himself for the wailing, for the teary attempts to reinstate the brat into this apartment.

Wasn't happening. Not today. Not tomorrow. Never again.

He finished the cigarette, lighting a second with the stub.

Still no Shuuichi. That was...strange.

He slid the door open a couple of inches, listening.

All he heard was the disgustingly cheerful birdsong. Inside, it was silent as the proverbial grave.

"Shuuichi?" That would get the brat's attention. He never, _never_ called the kid by his name. Gave him ideas, that did.

Still nothing.

A sudden uneasiness gripped him. Something wasn't right. Shuuichi would never—

_Shuuichi_ wouldn't, but a Shuuichi impersonator? Dammit, he'd never seen the moptop's face. What if someone, some damned _reporter,_ had disguised himself as Shu to gain entrance into this place and was even now going through his stuff looking for some scoop on the famous _gay_ Romance writer and his idiot wannabe-pop-singer lover?

He stubbed out the cigarette on the rail, thrust the door open and—

There he was. On the couch. Out cold. And decidedly not an impersonator.

He was curled in a ball, clutching a bathsheet that completely swallowed his small form. And yet . . . and yet, despite the face, Eiri could hardly believe this was the annoying brat that had lived with him for the past four weeks. Gone was the gawky, skinny-limbed sprawl, gone the contented smile. Most notably, the (dammitall) enchanting little snore had been replaced by the shaky, tear-laden breaths of a child who'd cried himself to sleep.

And Shuuichi lay there, pillowless, shivering in the damp towel, when he knew damn good and well where Eiri kept the linens. As if...

As if he felt he no longer had the right to use them.

Frowning, Eiri fetched a warm blanket and a pillow. Shuuichi didn't bat an eye when Eiri lifted the damp head to settle it gently on the pillow. The blanket roused slightly more interest, as one small hand deserted the towel to pull the blanket over his pink head, hiding his face from the morning sunlight filtering through the wall of windows. But there was nothing of conscious thought in the act, only an instinctive retreat from cold and light. Eiri doubted, in fact, that he'd actually see those violet eyes any time before mid-afternoon.

The joys of hangovers and nights spent on park benches. At this rate, if the kid avoided a stay in the hospital from exposure, he should count himself lucky.

Not his problem, he told himself firmly. Once that laundry was done, the freeloader would get the boot again.

He turned his back on the gut-wrenching little pile of blanket, and went to refill his coffee before heading for his study to get his day underway.

✴

Eiri was out of coffee, out of cigarettes, and hungry as hell.

He stood up, stretched and headed for a refill on the coffee. He wished, he really wished that the day had proved as fruitless as yesterday, but unfortunately, as had happened every day Shuuichi had spent in this house, the words had flowed like a waterfall, relentless, powerful...and beautiful.

Damned inspirational brat. But he'd get over it. He _would,_ dammit! Words had happened before Shindou Shuuichi, and they'd happen again. Better yet, he'd get back his signature doom and gloom endings. Never mind his editor and beta readers had loved that last one, the one that had gone all sappy-happy, thanks to Shuuichi's influence on his attitude.

It wasn't _him_, dammit.

Never mind it was his personal favorite of all his novels.

He gave himself a mental shake. Of course it was his favorite. It was the most recent. Favoritism went with the territory.

Outside his office, the bathroom door was shut, and the shower was going. Again.

Shit. If the brat kept this up, damned if he wouldn't send him an electric bill.

In the living room, he froze, staring at the late afternoon sun shafting through the wall of windows.

Double shit. No wonder he was starved. Where in hell had the day gone?

He started a new pot of coffee, grabbed three muffins out of the fridge and shoved half of one in his mouth as he headed back for the study.

That damned shower was _still_ going.

"Hey, you!" He banged on the door to get Shuuichi's attention, but the shower continued.

Fuck it. In the study, the message light on the phone was flashing. He kept the ringer off and the machine on the shelves behind his chair, because he refused to be bothered by the damned thing until he was in the mood to talk—or until he got email complaints from his editor that the machine was full. Generally the latter.

Not that he was in the mood to talk now, but something in him wondered what was behind this early morning police delivery. Had the kid tried to call after he'd tossed him out?

Two from Tats: the usual, and no, he would not attempt to collect any of the disgusting and sometimes downright creepy object d' Ryuichi his baby brother simply couldn't live without. He deleted those. Only one from his editor. Another from some fan who had gotten the unlisted number . . . he made a note of the name so he'd know which of his immediate family to throttle, but it was probably Tatsuha's doing. In a fit of self disgust for wasting his own time, he was about to delete the lot when an unexpected voice flowed from the speaker.

Since when did Nakano call _him_? And so . . . _cheerily?_

"_Sorry to bother you, Yuki-san, and I'm glad you and Shu made up and all, but could you tell him, please, to get his sorry ass down here? He's not answering his cell, and Sakano's going to spring a leak or something if he doesn't get here soon. Thanks!"_

What the hell? Made up? With Shuuichi? What had the brat told his guitarist buddy? By the time/date stamp, that message had arrived about an hour ago.

Another call, this one from Touma, and left (Eiri glanced at the display) while he was in the kitchen just now.

"_Eiri? You must call me back the moment you condescend to listen to this. What have you done to Shindou-san this time?"_

And another from Nakano, immediately after.

"_Damn you, you bastard. What the fuck did he ever do to you, other than give you his heart and soul? I warned you—"_

That one ended in a shout from the band's insane American manager and a gun shot.

Oh, things were hopping at NG studios.

He should just go haul the idiot out of the shower and ask him, but he also knew the futility of ignoring a direct demand from Touma. The bastard probably had his phone tapped; probably knew the instant he checked his messages.

He picked up the phone and auto-dialed Touma's office: the direct line. When his brother-in-law picked up, Eiri said, without preamble: "It's me."

"_Eiri. How good to hear—"_

"Don't give me that crap. What's this all about?"

"_Shindou-san?"_

"No. Kumagoro. _Of course,_ I'm talking about Shuuichi. What was that call of yours all about? Why's Nakano sending me death threats?"

"_Possibly because you've just ruined his career?"_

"Bullshit."

"_Are you telling me that Shindou-san didn't just resign because of something you did?"_

Resign? _Resign?_

He responded slowly. "Believe me, Touma, I have no idea what you're talking about. I threw Shindou out. Nothing more."

"_Of course you did. Might I ask why?"_

"You saw that damned gossip-rag and you know what that kind of press will do to his career. Beyond that..." Eiri frowned at the display on his computer, absently repaired a word-salad sentence in his latest manuscript. "You know what getting involved with me entails. I cut it off—before we both got hurt."

"_Ordinarily, I'd applaud your good sense. Under the circumstances... Nakano-san had assumed Shindou-san didn't show this morning because he was with you. He and Shindou-san evidently parted last night under the assumption Shindou-san was headed to your apartment to apologize. I take it this assumption was false?"_

"I didn't see him until this morning when a cop delivered him to my doorstep."

"_Ah. He is there, then?"_

"Unfortunately. Evidently he delayed on his way here for some liquid courage."

"_Hungover?"_

"To put it mildly."

"_Strange. He didn't sound that way when I spoke to him."_

"Touma, what's this all about?"

"_Shindou-san called me about fifteen minutes ago. He said he was quitting Bad Luck. He said not to blame Nakano-san or—"_

"What reason did he give?"

"_None, really, just that he couldn't do it any longer. That he never meant to hurt, anyone."_

"For the love of...that baka-brat couldn't hurt anyone if he tried. Look, Touma, he's here. I'll—" Fuck. No way was he going to try to talk sense into him. He knew where _that_ would lead.

"_Just talk to him, Eiri. See if you can sort out what's going on."_

He cursed softly.

A pause, then,_ "Eiri, I'm sorry. Under the circumstances, I've no right to ask that. Would you like me to come get him?"_

_Civility? _From _Seguchi?_ Wasn't that unprecedented? Almost, he said, yes, tempted beyond all sense to take advantage of Touma's momentary weakness, and see how far he could push it, but: "No. At least, not yet. I'll call, if I need you to."

"_Thank you, Eiri. I'll admit, his tone of voice worried me. Greatly. I've only heard . . . Never mind. Yes, please, Eiri. See what you can find out."_

Touma was implying something; damned if he knew what.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He hung up the phone, stared out the window without seeing a damned thing, his mind...numb.

✴

Shuuichi was out of the shower and back in the living room. The scrubbing brush Eiri kept under the sink had been left in the basin of the stall. From the small stains remaining on the porcelain, he supposed the kid had just been trying to clean up after himself.

Well, give Shuuichi points for that, he supposed.

Eiri headed reluctantly for the living room and the confrontation he had no idea how to begin. Quitting singing was not exactly the reaction he'd expected. Shuuichi thrived onstage, he lived for the response of the crowd. It was one of the personality quirks Eiri had found irresistible from the start. Being the type to shun human contact of all sorts, the type who abhorred crowds, that easy, open love had been...mesmerizing—and utterly beyond his comprehension. Shuuichi had been a puzzle he couldn't solve, but an absolutely predictable one, at least where it came to performing.

How the hell could he even think of giving that up? Just when he was about to break out? To realize a lifelong dream? He should be finding _refuge_ from his screwed up love life on stage, pouring out his 'heartache' in more of those tripe lyrics, songs his teenage audience would go nuts over.

Not hiding out in the park.

"Shu—" he broke off even before he got the name out. Shuuichi was sitting on the couch, staring blankly across the room, one hand clutching yet another towel around him, the other cradling a squawking cell phone. He said nothing. Only listened, until the squawking ended, then pushed a button without looking, and the squawking began again. Once. Twice. A third time...

Eiri could hear the raised voices even across the room. Frantic voices that became angry, until that little button started the stream all over. Phone messages. At least one, he'd wager, from every member of the Bad Luck team. Touma. Nakano. K. Sakano. Even that green-haired punk Touma claimed as part of the family.

Another punch of that button, and the stream began all over.

Shuuichi looked...devastated. Well, what the hell did he expect? He'd just destroyed the investment portfolios of at least half a dozen people. As Eiri, who was not exactly renowned for his tact, sought a way to _constructively_ disrupt Shuuichi's wallow in self-pity, he noticed the stains on the towel.

Dammit. That was blood.

"Bleed on my couch, brat, and I'll personally toss you over the balcony."

Now _that_ was constructive.

Shuuichi jumped. The phone slipped from nerveless fingers to fall, spinning, across the floor. Those huge, improbably exotic eyes blinked once, then followed the cell's path, watching it until it came to a halt.

Ah. Got him off the phone. Definitely constructive.

"What the hell happened last night?" Eiri pursued this excellent beginning. "You do realize 'falling down drunk' is not meant to be taken literally."

Slowly, Shuuichi slipped from the couch to land on his knees, reaching for the phone, cradling it against his chest with both hands.

Finally, in a whisper directed more towards the floor than to him: "Y–Yuki, I–I know I have n–no right to ask, but..." Narrow shoulders hunched as Shuuichi swallowed convulsively. "C–could you, p–please pretend...just for an hour...that you don't h–hate me?"

Damn.

"Shuuichi, I—"

A flinch stopped his protest cold, and this time, those eyes, swimming with tears, met his. "T–twenty minutes?" And when he still couldn't find words, a quiet, desperate: "Five? Please, Yuki? I—I just have to pretend, just for a minute, that someone...doesn't..." His soft, sweet voice failed altogether and his head bowed. "N–never mind..." He pushed himself wearily to his feet, clutching cell phone and towel and headed for the hallway. "I–I'll just get my clothes—"

"Can't." Eiri found his own voice at last, and caught Shuuichi's slumped shoulders as he passed. "I forgot to put them in to dry."

An audible sob escaped this time, and despite his better sense, despite his resolve to shut Shuuichi forever from his life and his heart, he pulled the small, wilting body close. Strangely, the thin arms that in the past would have wound around him like a boa constrictor, remained between them, still clutching the towel.

"Why, Shu-chan?" he murmured into the soft, tangled mop. Stupid pink hair. It had been a deep, rich magenta, only a month ago, and the dark roots were showing. "Why the park?"

He thought, for a moment, he'd get no answer, then: "Nowhere else to go."

"Nakano—"

"H–how could I? Knowing what I'd done. We had a dream, Hiro and I, and I'd just th–thrown it away. I–I couldn't go back home. M–my father d–disowned me the day I moved..."

"In with me?" Eiri finished for the failing voice.

A slow nod against his chest. He'd never known. Shuuichi, who'd tried to get him to make up with his family, especially his father. Shuuichi, who didn't know how to hate. Who would never find it in him to tell his father and his antiquated notions to fuck off. All this time, gentle Shuuichi had been estranged and in pain.

And Eiri'd never had a clue.

"So...I went to the park. There was nowhere else."

Nowhere else. Because the place he'd called home for weeks had ceased to welcome him.

"Besides, I–I just wanted to be _that _Shuuichi again. Just for a while."

_That_ Shuuichi. The before Yuki Eiri Shuuichi. Innocent. With an innocent's naïve notions of love. Notions that had permeated that piece of tripe lyrics.

Except they hadn't been tripe—to anyone who wasn't an arrogant, jaded ass who'd given up on life. Even that jaded ass had to admit to secretly enjoying the brat's songs these days. It was hard not to. Shuuichi's enthusiasm was nothing if not infectious and Shuuichi believed in his songs, his music, life, love...all those things he nattered on about, day in and day out.

That naïvete had survived, despite the loss of innocence.

At least, he thought it had. _I just wanted to be that Shuuichi again..._ And Shuuichi couldn't go to Hiro, his best friend, his bandmate, his fellow-dreamer, because he'd 'thrown it all away.'

Had he really given it all up—the songs, the band—because Yuki Eiri had thrown him out? Had Yuki Eiri, the world's most fucked up bastard, finally destroyed that fundamental character?

Had he truly robbed the world of one of its few genuinely sweet inhabitants?

Eiri cupped the quivering chin and tilted Shu's unresisting head back enough to meet those swimming, violet eyes, seeking answers, finding only an infinity of sorrow, and resolve took a staggering, if not fatal, blow. He leaned to press his lips gently to Shu's trembling mouth, then murmured:

"I think, maybe, I could manage twenty minutes."

The tears Shuuichi had been holding back erupted, and Eiri welcomed the flood, as he relished the boa constrictor that wrapped his waist and threatened his breathing. This, _this_ was the Shuuichi he recognized.

He wondered, as he picked the bawling brat up and carried him into the bedroom, just where he'd been hiding.

And more importantly, why.

TBC

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

**A/N:** In the anime, Shuuichi's family is never mentioned. His father and his relationship with his father is all constructed for the purposes of this story.

Please leave a review if you have time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fanfiction based on Maki Murakami's exquisite story "Gravitation." I take no profit other than enjoyment.

**A/N:** This is an AH...Alternate History, rather than a true AU. It branches from the anime canon to explore one answer to the question: What if Shu didn't opt to go to Hiro at the end of Track Six?

It's not in any way related to my "Yushu" future history for the boys.

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴  
**Nowhere To Go  
**by Vindaloo  
✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

Chapter 2  
**The Way We Were**

"Leave them off, would you, Yuki?" It was a soft, rather watery request from the bed behind him.

Eiri paused, his hand on the dimmer switch beside the door.

Damn. He thought they'd gotten past that modesty crap a good two weeks ago. He loved (though he'd never admit it) watching Shuuichi's face when he came. It was almost, _almost_ as good as the feeling of that tight little body milking an orgasm from him.

Well, he'd just have to make do with the waxing moon's light filtering in through the windows.

He turned back to the bed, found the way blocked by a slim silhouette, sans towel. It was a mystery how, despite the bare skin, there was nothing seductive about him. Incredibly sexy, yes, but not seductive. Shindou Shuuichi reserved that façade for the stage; it was a game he played with the audience.

Or perhaps not a façade. It was one of the most profound mysteries of his personal pint-sized annoyance, that dichotomy of the onstage siren and the charmingly stubborn naïveté of the real article. Shuuichi offered himself to his audience, handed out love and revealed himself to the world in a way few people had it in them to do, and there was nothing contrived in that giving. It was heartfelt and total.

It was bravery on a scale Yuki Eiri couldn't conceive.

It was terrifying.

So brave on stage, off stage, he could be equally terrifying in his vulnerability, and it was Shuuichi at his most vulnerable facing him now.

Shy, uncertain...as mysteriously innocent as he'd been that first night they'd spent together.

"I didn't think you'd come." Shuuichi's voice, drifting up through the shaggy hair, was barely audible.

"Come?" Eiri repeated, startled and confused as hell.

"To the concert. You surprised me. I—I almost lost it, you know. If it hadn't been for Sakuma-san..."

Suddenly, Eiri understood. _I wanted to be that Shuuichi_...

Shuuichi, the night of his first real gig. The night he saw Yuki Eiri in the audience and froze. The night Sakuma Ryuichi, lead singer for Nittle Grasper and Shuuichi's idol, had been watching, incognito, from the crowd. Ryu had sensed the younger vocalist's need and responded. Ryu had bridged the awkward moment, singing until Shuuichi rebounded with that totality of performance that had fascinated Eiri at once and forever.

Not that he'd ever told Shuuichi that. Not that night, not any time since.

So much they'd left unsaid that night. They'd been strangers, for all the attraction had been damned near irresistible, from the moment they'd met in the park. That attraction, that fascination, had dragged him from his apartment and to that damned concert of the kid's.

That attraction had made the idiot singer follow him home after the concert, had put the innocent brat squarely into the jaded bastard's territory, and they'd both been caught before they knew what had hit them.

That attraction had been irresistible that night and it still was. Even now, the effort not to lay hands on that slim body had him trembling.

_Just for twenty minutes?_

The pathetic truth was, the hard part was pretending he _did _hate him.

"How could I not come after such an articulate challenge?" he responded at last, joining Shuuichi's wistful fantasy. Twenty minutes. What could it hurt? He lifted a hand to cup that sweet face, brushing the damp cheek with his thumb.

There'd been tears in his eyes that night, too.

Musical laughter, sweet and shy, so very different from the maniacal, confident stage laugh.

"You're such a liar. You came to laugh at me."

Laugh at him? Laugh at the pathetic excuse for lyrics that had blown into his face the night they met? Funny, of all the possibilities, laughter had never even remotely touched his mind that night.

"See right through me, don't you?" he countered lightly.

"And you...look right through me." Shuuichi's breath caught. Sad, now. A wrenching return to the present. As if he'd realized his slip, those eyes, liquid pools in the moonlight, blinked up at him, and the whisper turned dreamy. "I...fell in love with you that first night in the park, you know. It just took me a while to figure it out."

Fell in love with the man who made him cry. The man who trashed his precious song. Funny, _he'd_ fallen in love with the idiot who jumped out in front of his car and damned near killed them both, just to throw that critique in his face. Who'd then written a new song, in utter defiance of his assessment and challenged him to come to the concert and hear it for himself.

The new song itself had been only slightly better than the first, but oh, what a difference the form of delivery had made.

Bravery on a scale he'd never understand.

Two small hands wrapped around his neck, trying to pull him down for a kiss. Instead, he lifted Shuuichi up and carried him back to the bed, lips finding lips. The small hands shifted to his shirt, working the buttons free, brushing the soft fabric off his shoulders as he set Shu down on the bed. His slacks quickly followed, Shuuichi for once as eager as Eiri.

Eiri attacked that responsive body, bringing it to life as only he could, as only he ever had. Shuuichi had been a virgin when they met, innocent in every sense of the word, and he'd shaped the younger man into his perfect bedmate.

Not that it had taken much molding. They'd been perfectly matched from the first time.

Shu's cries of mixed pain and pleasure filled the room. He always objected, always tried to convince Eiri he was being too rough, but from the start, the moment Eiri pulled back, the little hypocrite would be screaming _harder-faster-harder-faster!_

The truth was, the kid was a sensory-addict. He loved extremes and the extreme of sexual pleasure was pain. He'd been careful never to actually hurt the little idiot—mainly because hurting Shuuichi would hurt _him _far more. The brat was _tight_, his dancer's butt was exceedingly strong, and _he_ was (if he did say so himself) quite nicely endowed. Lube and prep were fucking mandatory.

But somehow, this time, the little sensory-sponge was different. In the past, Shuuichi had been passive, for all he'd be actively writhing and clinging and kissing whatever came within reach of his lively mouth, but this time...

This time, Shuuichi slipped free of Eiri's control. His sensitive hands and mouth began exploring, as they never had before, as if...

As if he were saying hello and goodbye, to each and every part of the body that had taken his innocence. For the first time, Eiri realized what he'd done, casting the kid out so abruptly. He'd denied him the chance for (Buddha save him from the worst -ism of pop-psyche culture) _closure _on that single-most significant moment in a hopeless romantic's life.

And Shuuichi was nothing if not hopelessly romantic.

And so Eiri found himself lying back and letting it happen, relinquishing control. Wallowing. Lost in the sensations those sensitive hands and warm mouth evoked.

Trusting...

As he hadn't since...

He shuddered and pulled Shu up, roughly, away from his groin where that sweet, exceedingly talented mouth had been rousing more than flesh, pushed him flat and attacked his mouth and lower, reestablishing who the fuck was the leader in this relationship.

Driving...that other man...and _his_ exceedingly talented mouth and dominating hands back into the past. Where he fucking well belonged.

A moment of resistance, and Shuuichi, _his_ Shuuichi, passive and hungry, was back.

Relief flooded him as his universe settled back into its proper order, and he set about reminding Shuuichi exactly _why _he was the leader in their shared bed. Yet somehow, despite all his efforts, despite the fact that Shuuichi screamed when he came, his ass contracting as it would to send Eiri predictably over the orgasmic edge, even as he slipped free and wrapped his arms around the kid for one final post-coital doze...something was still...very wrong.

✴

Morning light shafted through the room.

Eiri groaned and twisted, trying to escape the heaven-cast torment, found his path blocked by a slim, naked body. A slim, naked, _male_ body.

Damn.

The brat knew better. What the hell...

Then he remembered. It wasn't a normal night. Shuuichi hadn't invaded the bedroom, he'd been brought in, and Eiri hadn't shoved him back to the couch afterward. Hell, Eiri didn't even remember falling asleep, it had happened so smoothly and naturally.

And he, Eiri, had had no nightmares. For the first time in years, his bed had remained free of Kitizawa Yuki for an entire night.

Damn.

He stretched, carefully, not ready to face an early-morning Shuuichi, a Shuuichi who had yet to try to beg his way back into the house. Eiri wasn't certain he'd have the backbone to refuse, if Shu hit him with the plea at this particular moment. He didn't remember ever waking up quite so...at peace with the world.

Damn.

But he had to resist. As good as Shindou Shuuichi might—and that was a large might—be for him, _he_ was disaster waiting to happen for Shindou Shuuichi.

He and his fucking insidious, murderous past. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ risk destroying Shuuichi as he'd destroyed...him.

Didn't mean he couldn't enjoy this rare moment. Didn't mean he couldn't prop himself on one elbow and appreciate the view.

One last time.

Damn.

As much as he hated to admit it, Shuuichi wasn't the only one who needed closure on this shared chapter in their lives.

He liked the fucking little runt. He liked the way Shuuichi's laughter filled a room. He liked— Dammit, he liked the way the kid sang in the shower, liked it when he cut his fingers in the kitchen and came crying for bandaids (because the idiot loved the ritual of sitting on Eiri's lap while Eiri repaired the damage) and didn't even mind the adrenaline rush when the moron managed to set the fire alarm off.

But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. The world knew, now, and the world would make sure to destroy them along with those fleeting memories.

And that, he thought, easing the sheet from the slim shoulder, was a fucking poor excuse. It wasn't the world he had to protect Shu from, it was himself.

He wasn't a stupid man. He felt Shuuichi maneuvering past the guards he'd placed between himself and the world years ago, knew that for all he might rationally endeavor to control his actions, his self-protective instincts, that side that didn't believe Shu's protestations of love, that side that expected every moment to have that professed love turned against him, were going to continue to control him. The more successful Shu was at infiltrating, the more aggressive those instincts would become, and eventually, Shu would truly be hurt.

And if the protective side was right, if Shu _was _simply using him somehow, when that eventual betrayal came, Shu might not survive.

In either case, hurting Shuuichi, Eiri realized now, truly hurting him, would destroy whatever soul had survived Uesugi Eiri's last betrayal.

A deep scratch marred the perfection of the smooth-skinned back. Eiri frowned, recalling the blood-stained towel, wondering what had happened and how much damage the clumsy baka had done to himself. He really shouldn't have let the brat distract him last night.

He slowly moved the sheet, trying not to disturb the softly snoring Shuuichi, inspecting each square inch of skin thus revealed.

Bruises. Several smallish scratches.

The sheet cleared the round curve of his butt, and Eiri froze. What...?

The skin was...raw. Butt, thighs... Suddenly he understood. The scrubbing brush in the shower. The stains. Shu hadn't been cleaning porcelain, he'd been cleaning...himself.

"What the fuck?" Eiri said aloud, before he thought, and the slumbering Shuuichi started, then curled tighter around his pillow, burying his face while exposing more abused flesh, even to a raw and extremely painful-looking entrance, an intimate hole he'd so casually invaded the night before.

No wonder Shuuichi had wanted the lights left off.

Suddenly, a whole lot made a horrible kind of sense.

"Dammit, who did this?" Eiri demanded, grabbing the slim arm and hauling the dazed brat up out of the pillow and around to face him. "Why didn't you say something?"

Fear mingled equally with confusion.

"Y–yuki?" Small hands lifted to rub at his eyes, so like, so _very_ like a child. Those large, unfocused eyes squinted in the light, looked around, and as awareness slowly dawned, began to fill with silent tears. "I'm sorry, Yuki," he whispered, "I thought...I thought it would be okay. I thought... But I couldn't let them hurt you. Couldn't just give up on us." One of those hands reached to Eiri's face, tracing his cheek like the brush of a feather, then disappeared. "But we were already over, weren't we?"

Shuuichi inched his way off the bed, and limped toward the door.

"Dammit, Shuuichi, what happened?" Eiri thrust himself out of the bed, froze as steady violet eyes lifted to meet his anger head on.

"The twenty minutes are up, Yuki. You don't have to pretend any longer."

"Pretend? _Pretend?_ You think I'm pretending to be pissed?"

The body flinched, but the violet eyes held firm. "Y–you've every right to be a–angry, a–and I'm really, really sorry, but it sh–should end now. It should be over. I–I don't know what else I can do. With–with me out of the picture, it should all blow over."

"Shuuichi, dammit, you're not making sense. Did you quit Bad Luck to end the rumors? To protect _me? _That's insane. Seguchi can take care of that. I don't give a fuck about those stupid tabloids. I want to know what happened the other night. I want to know how you got those bruises. Dammit, did someone...did someone..." But he couldn't get the word out. It caught in his throat.

Shuuichi stared at him a moment, as if waiting for him to finish, but the words just wouldn't come out, and the last shred of hope died from that beautiful little face: "It—it's none of your business, Yuki." Quietly said, without a hint of censure. "Not any more." The pink head dropped. "It's time for me to go." Shuuichi turned back for the door, paused, one hand to the frame. "I do love you, Yuki Eiri. I'll ...always... love you."

He closed the door softly behind him.

✴

"_Moshi, moshi,"_ Nakano Hiroshi's voice, low and calm, could slow a racing heart, even over a phone. And yet, Nakano Hiroshi's promise to make Eiri regret hurting his best friend was the one threat Eiri had ever taken seriously.

A good friend; a dangerous enemy.

"Nakano?" Eiri said abruptly. "Yuki."

"_Shit."_ A sigh, then: _"Do I need to come pick him up?"_

The man was, without question, psychic. "Yeah. Fast. I'll handle Touma."

"_I'm on my way."_

"Don't...don't push him, Nakano."

"_What's going on?"_

"Just...get your ass over here, will you?"

"_Yeah."_

The line went dead. Eiri heard the shower going, and dialed Seguchi's office. When his brother-in-law answered, he said: "Touma, don't ask. I blew it. I've asked Nakano to come get him. Don't let that crazy American do something stupid. Tell him to get Nakano here, then vanish. Shuuichi...he's ready to bolt. I..." Dammit, his voice was breaking. He knew, in his gut, he knew. And his breath grew short as panic threatened.

"_Eiri, do you need me to come over?"_

"Dammit, this isn't about me! Shuuichi's the one who...who..."

"_Eiri, I'm coming over."_

"I only need one thing, Seguchi. And that's to know Shuuichi's safe." He hung up. Safe . . . And alive.

Suddenly, there was only one way to set his roiling brain at rest. The shower was still going. Suddenly, he didn't care about the kid's needs, the kid's modesty. Only knowing Shuuichi was alive and not lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood mattered.

He knocked on the bathroom door. "Shuuichi?"

No answer.

He banged on the door, his mind a morass of hideous memories. His own rape when he was only sixteen. The horrible feeling that he'd never be clean again. The constant urge to slit his wrists, an urge only Touma's constant presence had prevented. "Dammit, you moron, answer me!"

Still nothing.

The door was locked, but that meant nothing to a determined shoulder. The frame shattered, the door swung free—

On an empty, steam-filled room.

TBC

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

**Next:** Catch Me Before I Fall.

**Reviews: **Thanks to all who did! I will say, only the first part of this story arc has been written. I thought it was the end but as I rewrite for posting, another segment is taking shape, so please, if you have reactions or questions, take a minute to put them into a review. It might help the next segment to happen faster.

**Abi: **My first review on this story! YAY! Thank you. I'll try. :D **Torring:** Big Shu hugs! The anime and the manga both did have something of a "magic happens here" for Shu's recovery after the rape, witness all the fanfic written on the topic. :D I think I have, like, three versions so far (:D:D:D) None of which are strictly canon. Maybe I should try one that is. Hmmm...

**Moon: **Wow. Thank you very much for the review. You raise some excellent points. (A) I'm glad you like my interpretation of the boys. I find them fascinating to work with and tip my hat to Maki Murakami for creating characters with such scope that they move easily and naturally from slapstick humor to intense drama. (B) I've worked in the graphic format and it's really hard to put in delicate psychological innuendo, particularly when the character in question is as taciturn regarding personal issues as Yuki is (not to mention, who _knows_ what we're missing in the translation!) It's even more difficult in the anime, which has an enormous restriction on length. Viewpoint prose is ever so much more informative, since you get to put in the thoughts behind the blank stares. (C) Angst. Hmmm...you know, I hadn't really thought about my feelings on that topic until you mentioned it. Angst is, by definition, a feeling of _generalized_ anxiety or dread. I ...don't think I really do that. I like emotional tension, but I try to keep that tension focused, i.e. I try not to let the characters wallow in trivialities. I try to keep the source of the anxiety focused on the plot element that created it. That way it doesn't infect the rest of the relationship, dragging the problems on ad infinitum. And ultimately, I believe in the chemistry between the two characters and their fundamental need to make the relationship work, which is the basis for the Gravitation universe, so it generally has an optimistic...feel, I suppose. Does that make any sense? (D) I really try to assume the reader hasn't seen or read the anime: thank you for noticing that.

**Enzeru:** :D Thank you! I'll try. It's a bit different tone from my other stories, in that it's earlier in the relationship.** DD666:** Thank you. It's not particularly long...at least this section. **Goddess:** Heh heh...Doesn't he always? He's made of rubber, you know. ;-) **Gabrielle and Bubble:** I have to admit, I was sniffling myself when I wrote that line about pretending for X minutes. Every once in a while, a character pulls one on you, and that line came totally out of left field. **Celeste:** Don't dread. This is fairly short. :D **Ray:** Heh heh. I do write a relatively sane Yuki. For one thing, he seems that way because frequently you're in his viewpoint, and from his POV, there's always a perfectly valid reason for what he does and says. He's not a deliberately cruel man...if he were, there'd be no story worth telling. He's also smart and can rationalize anything he's _inclined_ to do. That said, I hope the Yuki in this story will be at least a bit spicier (and a bit less balanced) than the _Yushu _Yuki...he's several years younger and the relationship with Shu is still very volatile. Also...I'll be honest, it's kind of fun to choose situations where Yuki's better side wins out over the bastard, if only to have him slip up. Anyway...hope you enjoy! **Mouse:** Oh...dear. I must admit, I wrote the rough draft of this story before reading the manga and the anime gave us nothing about Shu's family life. I fear fans of poor papa-Shindou are going to throw virtual tomatoes at me next chapter.

**emalathe, Noriko, catti-dono, Saint Germaine, Goddess, far-east-steps, and anybody I forgot to mention.**...thank you all for reviewing. Hope it continues to please!

—Vin—


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fanfiction based on Maki Murakami's exquisite story "Gravitation." I take no profit other than enjoyment.

**A/N:** This is an AH...Alternate History, rather than a true AU. It branches from the anime canon to explore one answer to the question: What if Shu didn't opt to go to Hiro at the end of Track Six?

It's not in any way related to my "Yushu" future history for the boys.

My apologies again to the fans of Shu's father. I have taken...great liberties with the character. My only excuse is, this is based on the anime, in which Papa-Shindou was never even mentioned.

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴  
**Nowhere To Go  
**by Vindaloo  
✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

Chapter 3  
**Catch Me Before I Fall**

The view out Seguchi Touma's office window was probably spectacular; the president of NG productions would have settled for nothing less than the best.

If you liked Tokyo.

At the moment, Eiri would trade it all for one glimpse of an unruly mop of pink hair.

"How in hell could he just disappear?" he asked that view, knowing the question to be rhetorical. If Touma knew the answer, Shuuichi wouldn't be missing. He'd be tucked up safe and sound in Yuki Eiri's _meat locker_ if that's what it took to keep him ...safe and sound.

Dammit.

"K's working on it," Touma said quietly from his seat at the desk behind him. "If it's any consolation, if it were a professional job, we'd have him by now. However he's hiding, it's so low tech, it's stone age."

"Wonderful."

Four days. Four fuckingly long days.

"It's his own doing, Eiri. If you're right—"

"If I'm right, if he _was_...assaulted...sexually, being alone right now would be, for him, devastating. Dammit, Touma, he's—" His voice caught as he was transported to his own past, to an innocence greater, if possible, than Shuuichi's. Of a trust betrayed, and the horrific consequences. Of the nightmares and the blood no amount of washing had ever truly purged from his hands.

He'd fought Touma's help, tooth and nail, then and in the ensuing six years. He'd fought that help, but he'd had it. He'd never, _ever _been alone, not really.

Unlike Shuuichi. Poor, sweet, innocent idiot Shu had just disappeared, having been rejected by the egocentric asshole he was convinced meant the world to him, after giving up his dream career to protect that selfsame asshole's public image. A dozen replays of that final admission had made that small sense at last.

And yet:

_I couldn't let them hurt you..._

So he'd...what? let some bastards beat him then fuck him? What the hell was that all about? How could that save anyone? And why quit the band? Why disappear?

Unless he'd felt so damned filthy afterward a razor blade to the wrist had become preferable to facing his fellow musicians, especially his guitarist and best friend, Nakano Hiroshi. He doubted anyone else's opinion really mattered to Shuuichi at this point.

Fuck.

It didn't make sense. None of it made any—

"It's not your fault, Eiri," Touma said quietly, like an echo from six years ago.

His head went light and he took a deep breath, then swallowed hard, turned away from that view to meet Touma's somber gaze.

"The hell it's not. If I hadn't kicked him out—"

"Nonsense. And you know it. Whoever was behind this couldn't have known about that."

"Then, if I'd never let him move in. However you want to dice it, _I'm_ the reason he was attacked."

"The reason, or simply an excuse. We don't know why until we know who. Either way, Eiri, it's _not_ your fault."

He stared down into Touma's green contacts, feeling the ghosts of the past rise up and freeze his face. "It never is, is it, Touma?"

Touma frowned. "It wasn't then and it's not now."

Maybe someday, he'd believe that.

Maybe.

He sighed, and looked away. "Just...keep trying, will you, Touma?"

"Of course." Touma stood up and pressed a hand to Eiri's arm. "Go home, Eiri. Get some sleep. You've got your pills?"

"I hate to take them...in case he calls."

"Route your phone to my office."

"Oh, like that will help."

"Caller ID, Eiri. Shimisi is the essence of tact. She'll know it's him, reassure him, tell him I ordered you to get some rest. When you wake up, return the routing."

Tempting. God, it was tempting. He'd barely closed his eyes in four days.

"Fuck."

Touma smiled, his self-satisfied _I won_ smile. "You know I'm right. He'll only blame himself should you take ill over this."

"There's a point. Maybe I should check myself into the hospital. You can plaster it all over the news that I'm dying. He'd show up then."

If he was still alive.

"Probably he would," Touma said.

Dammit, he _had_ to be. He'd know it if he weren't, wasn't that what all lovers claimed? Except... he didn't love him. He just felt guilty. Yeah, that was it. Not love. Guilt.

Right. Keep talking Uesugi, and you might convince—

"And if you don't get some sleep," Touma continued firmly. "I'll call the hospital for you. Go _home_, Eiri. Let K try working his magic first."

Eiri dipped his head in reluctant agreement and left Touma's office, more exhausted than after a weeklong deadline marathon.

He knew Touma was right, that there wasn't a damned bit of good he could do, and a hell of a bother he could be to the busy executive, though under normal circumstances, that fact wouldn't affect his actions in the slightest.

He generally didn't give a flying fuck about Touma's business obligations, but in this case he cared a great deal, seeing as how Touma's interests were his as well. Bad Luck had become an exceedingly valuable commodity, their first single was selling beyond Publicity's wildest expectations. And with the vocal scope and sheer heart Shindou Shuuichi brought to the band, Touma could be looking at several years of chart-topping singles and platinum albums.

Without Shuuichi, Bad Luck was nothing but a bad investment.

Fortunately, Touma _did_ have resources. Quite amazing resources, not the least of which was Bad Luck's own gun-toting, ex-CIA manager, Claude "K" Winchester. The sooner Touma quit worrying about him, the sooner all those resources would be focused on finding Shuuichi.

Eiri had exhausted his own list of possible bolt holes in the hour following Shuuichi's disappearance, serving only to remind himself of how little he knew about his month long roommate. He hadn't even known the kid's home address, not that it would have made a difference: Nakano had called Shuuichi's mother from Eiri's place, right after the brat had disappeared, a call that had resulted in panic followed by hourly calls to NG from the frantic woman.

Frantic requests for reassurance no one could give her.

Eiri frowned and punched the button for the elevator.

Shuuichi _had_ to be alive. He was the essence of life. Suicide simply wasn't in his character. He'd left the band because he was embarrassed, that was it. He couldn't face them, knowing they knew. Eiri knew that feeling intimately. There'd been a time he hadn't been able to face his world-wise older sister, let alone his innocent younger brother.

Never mind they'd never offered him anything but loving support. _He_ knew he'd failed some essential test and all their reassurance couldn't change that knowledge.

So, what test had Shuuichi failed? What test could that talented little idiot _possibly_ have failed?

The elevator dinged. The "down" light flashed. The door opened on a puzzled-looking Nakano Hiroshi, who started, blinked, and stepped out.

"Nakano," Eiri said, with a nod, and started to pass, but Hiro caught his arm, pulling him up short, holding him in the hallway as the elevator closed and left.

"I...think I might have something."

Eiri's irritation vanished along with the exhaustion. "Yeah?"

"I...it may be nothing, but..."

"Dammit, Nakano, spit it out!"

Nakano raised a hand to scratch the back of his head, disrupting the smooth fall of hair, as he would when searching for a sensible response. Eiri curbed his impatience, knowing that anger would only chase the younger man away, likely to Touma's office, and whatever he'd discovered would be beyond Eiri's reach.

Touma had told him to sleep. Touma was determined to handle it.

Well...Touma couldn't have it. Not if it he could help it.

"Well, you know Shu's father is a construction foreman," Nakano said at last.

He didn't, but he nodded all the same, not to waste time on trivialities.

"Well, Shu used to work for him, during the summers. Odd jobs around the site. Anything to make some money, but he had to quit when his father got promoted to high-rises."

"Why?"

Nakano gave him a strange look. "Shu's terrified of heights, didn't you know that?"

"Are you kidding me? He's a roller-coaster addict."

"Loves the speed, hates the height. Closes his eyes on all the slow parts. Besides, he's an adrenaline junkie, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Yeah? So?" Eiri twitched impatiently. "What's this got to do with where he is now, other than putting roller-coaster repairman out of the list of possible Shuuichi-careers?"

"I called Shindou-san, to see if, by any chance Shu had put that work experience on some application. I mean, he's got to get a job, right? And 'ex-rock star' might not be much use, even if he was dumb enough to list NG as a reference. Anyway, I thought if he did list his father, they might have called the company to check—"

"Don't tell me they _did?"_

"Before I got a chance to ask Shindou-san, he left the phone to answer some question, and ...dammit, I could swear, I heard Shu's voice. Singing. I heard Shindou-san yell to shut down that racket, and it stopped, but—"

"Radio?"

Nakano shrugged, staring down the hallway as if he were seeing anything but the modern decor. "I thought about that, but I didn't hear any backup, just the voice. And then, the phone went dead."

"Dead."

This time, Nakano looked him squarely in the eyes.

"I figure, someone maybe didn't want me to hear any more."

"You think Shu's working for his father?"

"It'd be one way to lie low. His father didn't like him singing. _Hated_ him being with you. If Shu wanted to avoid us all, it'd be his best bet. And his father could put him on the payroll as an independent contractor under an assumed name. That would make it real hard for K's sources to spot."

"But if he's been working for his father, why would his mother be calling Touma for information?"

"Only one way to answer that, Yuki-san, and that's to ask Shu. It's possible she knows and is helping his cover, but I don't think so. She's as up front as Shu. If it's for real, I don't think he'd be happy to know how frightened she is. I don't think he _can _know."

"Where's the job?"

Nakano silently handed him a piece of paper with an address on it.

Eiri eyed the writing, strangely uncertain what he should do. He knew what he _wanted_ to do, that was pretty well a no-brainer. If Shu was at this address, he wanted to pound whoever was responsible for keeping that fact hidden—likely his homophobic father—into something resembling sushi prepared with a dull serrated knife.

But what would Shu want?

Nakano's firm but gentle grip again found his arm. "Go to him, Yuki-san. If I know Shu, and I think I know him pretty well after all these years, just the fact you've come to find him will be enough. He doesn't _want_ to be alone, he's just afraid, for some reason, that—"

"Well, well, well, what have we here?"

Nakano's brow tightened. He turned slowly to face the dark-haired, slender man oozing down the hall toward them.

"Aizawa," Nakano said calmly, with an acknowledging tip of his head.

"Moving in on Shindou's territory already, Nakano?"

"Just keep moving, Aizawa. I'm really not in the mood."

"No doubt." The young man sneered as he pressed the elevator's call button. "Being a has-been does have its downsides, doesn't it?"

"Don't count Bad Luck out yet, Aizawa."

"No? Still keeping the happy face on, Nakano? Without a lead singer, Bad Luck is history. _Ask_ is number one here now."

Ask. Now he recognized the man. Aizawa Taki, the lead singer of Touma's other major band. The band whose limelight Shuuichi had usurped that first night. Bad Luck been the opening act, the warmup band, but after Shuuichi, only Ryuichi himself could have triumphed.

The man's strangely drooping eyes scanned Eiri with an annoying intimacy that made Eiri want to give him a face-lift with his fists. "What _did_ a man like you see in that skinny runt anyway?"

Tightening his fist on the note Nakano had given him, he returned that assessing look in spades, stopping pointedly on the singer's expensively-tailored crotch.

"Far more than I'll find here. —Hiro?" The elevator arrived. Eiri nodded to Nakano in a deliberately warm farewell, and stepped into the elevator, quickly keying the door closed in Aizawa's face.

✴

"Take it over to him now, or you're fired, do you understand me?"

The voice surprised Eiri. Deeper, more mature, with a harshly commanding tone gentle Shuuichi would never achieve, yet amazingly similar to Shuuichi's in diction and quality: the voice, he'd lay odds, of Shuuichi's father.

The cage lift rattled to a stop two floors from the top of this still-skeletal building, and Eiri stepped free, seeking the source of that authoritative voice, found it out on one of those structural beams, a slight figure leaning easily against a support beam, arms akimbo, gazing out across the maze of steel, the wind whipping his clothing.

"Dammit, how many times must I tell you, don't look down!" The figure straightened with a jerk. "You _idiot!_ If that hits someone, they could _die!"_

A sob drifted to Eiri on a breeze, a painfully familiar sound. No doubt who was on the receiving end of those harsh words.

Shuuichi. Out on that steel maze, crouched and clinging desperately to a catwalk. A small figure the wind up here could knock about like a leaf. A small figure that could easily roll right under the simple safety railing.

Shuuichi...who was terrified of heights.

It appeared his father intended to cure him of that weakness, one way or another.

Eiri moved calmly along the catwalk, utterly impervious to the effects of the large open areas around him, the quick death that awaited a careless step.

The slight figure, Shu's father, put hands on hips. "Damn you, get up, get back here and get another box of rivets. Time's wasting!"

"C–can't." It was a choked cry, and the helmeted head bowed. "I–I...s–sorry. Sorry."

"Well, no one's coming after you. Eventually, the wind will win and you'll die. Is that what you want?"

"Bastard," Eiri said in a pleasant, conversational tone.

Shindou-the-elder twisted, glaring. "Who the fuck—"

"But you have a point." Eiri raised his voice and looked beyond the elder Shindou. "Shuuichi, don't go crazy on me, baka."

The sobs shaking the narrow shoulders ceased abruptly. A gasp reached him.

"Yeah, brat. You're busted. I want you to look up at me. I want to see those gorgeous eyes of yours."

Slowly, the hardhat lifted, twisting, and the gorgeous purple eyes in question looked back over the narrow shoulder, glistening across what seemed like a mile of narrow catwalk bridging virtually empty space. He wasn't really in danger, as long as he didn't panic. Shuuichi had balance like a cat. He could do it easily.

As long as he didn't panic.

"Ah. Even prettier than I remembered. Mostly, you're kinda silly looking, but those eyes are special, you know that? Now, listen to me, you idiot. Your father here has a point, even if he is as big an idiot as you." He ignored the growled objection from the man at his side. "You don't need anyone to come get you, and it's time you figured that out. You know I wouldn't anyway. But I'll wait right here for you to come to me."

"I–is that wh–what you want, Yuki?"

"Considering I came here to take you home, I'd say it probably is."

"H–home?"

"My home. Your home. Wherever you want, but you're not hiding. Not any more. I haven't slept or gotten a paragraph written since you disappeared, so get that cute little butt of yours over here, will you?"

The big eyes flooded, looked down, and his whole body shuddered. "C–can't."

"Shu, look at me."

The eyes appeared again.

"Shu, I lied. Just like I lied about hating you. If I have to, I'll come out there and carry you back in, if that's what you really want. I don't think it is. I think you're one of the bravest men I've ever known. I think you're out there now because you want—" Eiri let his coldest look fall on Shuuichi's father. "—_someone _to care enough to come get you. Well, I've got news for you, _someone_ cares_ too much_ to come get you. He knows you need to conquer this on your own. Me? I just want to go home and if you fall and make a mess on the sidewalk, there'll be police and reporters. Worse, I'll have to explain your sudden demise to that Hiro guy."

"Hiro? He...he knows I'm...?"

"Hell, yes. He put me onto it. Heard your caterwauling on the phone when he was talking to your dad here. Pop didn't tell you, huh? Well, fancy that. Now..._will_ you get over here?"

White teeth worried his lower lip, then slowly, very carefully, he wormed his way around and began to inch his way back, his eyes locked on Eiri's.

"Well, that's pretty good. You do know people actually _walk_ on those things all the time?"

The mouth set, his brows lowered determinedly, and he slowly rose to his feet, then continued to inch his way, barely lifting his feet. Predictably, a toe caught. Shuuichi stumbled, grabbed for the railing—

And missed.

Beside him, Eiri heard the brat's father gasp.

Maybe the bastard actually did care.

Fortunately for both of them, a second flailing pass caught and held the rail in a double-fisted, white-knuckled stranglehold.

When his own heart resumed beating, Eiri sent another taunt across the space between them: "Grace and charm, brat. Are you through scaring us all out of ten years' growth?"

The fear was back, the eyes swimming. "Yuki, do you _really _want...?"

He lifted his hands, palms up, welcoming, and Shuuichi's million watt smile broke through. The next instant, Eiri damn near lost those ten years for real as Shuuichi _ran_ the final five meters and leapt into his arms.

"Idiot!" he shouted, as he caught his balance and eased Shuuichi down until his feet were solidly on the catwalk. Even so, the shivers wracking Shu's under-sized body threatened to send them both plummeting to the sidewalk far, _far _below.

"Well, I hope you've enjoyed making a fucking spectacle of yourself."

Ah, yes. Shuuichi's loving father. Damn. He'd almost successfully forgotten about him.

Eiri worked the hardhat from Shuuichi's head, (he kept banging his chin on it, and they were, according to the fellow down at the bottom of the lift, who'd sent _him _up here without that protection, supposedly in a 'safe' zone) found a natural, ebony-colored mop of hair, matted with sweat, beneath. Knowing Shuuichi's face wouldn't come unglued from his chest for at least three minutes, he let his attention expand at last.

Shuuichi's father was...pissed. That was to be expected. And they were, indeed, quite the center of attention for at least a half-dozen localized workmen.

"You, I take it, are that Yuki Eiri person who seduced my boy and lured him away from his family."

Ooo, papa-Shindou was sincerely pissed.

"Explain to me, Shu," Eiri asked, into that sweaty head, "why I should give a fuck about this person's obviously misinformed opinion?"

"You mean you're _not_ Yuki Eiri?" Shindou demanded.

"I–I don't know if you should, but...I do, Yuki." It was a very small voice emerging from the general vicinity of his chest.

"And this is because...?"

"Because he's my father."

"That annoying biological fact never stopped me from tuning out my father."

"And because I love him."

"Oh. Well, if that's the case..." He set his chin on Shuuichi's head and met the elder Shindou's angry gaze. "Shindou-san, pleased to meet you. Now, if you'll excuse us, I'm going to...lure...your son away again."

"Yuki."

"Shush, brat." Eiri shifted until he had Shuuichi tucked to his side with one arm, and urged him toward the lift-cage. Shuuichi went without resistance, seemingly in a daze.

"Leave now, boy, and don't bother coming back. Ever. Not here. Not to my house."

Shuuichi froze, looked back at his father, then up at Eiri. Slowly, he slipped free of Eiri's hold and began to back away.

"Shu?"

"I...I can't, Yuki."

"You don't belong here. . ."

"It doesn't matter. I'll make myself belong. I have to. There's...nowhere else for me to go."

"Are you kidding me? Touma's going out of his mind. Have you been living in a cave? That damned CD of yours is flying off the shelves."

But Shuuichi was shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. I...can't sing any more."

Fuck.

"Then just come back to me." He hadn't known for certain he'd make that offer, but now he had, he knew it was right. Guilt, love, or just plain stubborn refusal to lose to a man like Shuuichi's father, he wouldn't, _couldn't_ leave Shuuichi here.

But Shu still backed away, shaking his head.

"At least call your mother, will you?"

"M–mom?" Shuuichi paused, a puzzled look on his face. Beyond him, Shindou took a menacing step forward. Eiri glared at him, and he froze, his gaze, dark brown with a hint of Shuuichi's purple, fixed on his son.

"She's worried sick about you." Eiri pushed his advantage. Nakano had called that one right: Shu didn't know. "What do you expect when her only son goes missing? She's been driving Touma crazy with her phone calls."

"M–mom?" This time, Shuuichi aimed that question at his father. "Y–you said she'd d–disowned me."

"Get back to work!" Shindou shouted at the men openly listening, and when they'd reluctantly obeyed, he hurried over, his face hard with anger. "What do you think?" he hissed in a low voice, "That I'd _tell_ her her son had come crawling back after whoring himself on the streets?"

"W–whor...ing?" Shuuichi's voice rose. "_Whoring_? I was _raped,_ Dad. Three guys did me in a fucking _parking lot_ while a fourth took pictures."

Another glared warning. "Keep your voice down, boy! You _let _them. You said it yourself."

"_Let them?"_ Shuuichi shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Is that what you call it? _Cooperate_, they said, and those you love won't be hurt. _Give up_ everything, _everything_ that makes you..._you_ and we won't destroy the one person who means more than life to you. _Never sing again_ and we'll leave you alone. Smile while we fuck your ass into hamburger and maybe we'll let you live. Of course, you'll never be able to look your lover in the eye again, never be able to stand to let him touch you. But that's okay. He threw you out anyway. And your father's still there. You can go to him. He'll help. He'll understand. He's your father, after all."

_Never sing again ... _Past the runaway revelation Eiri had been dreading and expecting, that one line stuck out, resonating with sudden clarity, and a sense of pieces falling into place. Only one person stood to gain by Shuuichi's never singing again. One person who had smugly declared Bad Luck yesterday's news.

Aizawa. It had to be Ask's lead singer behind the attack.

"I didn't know what else to do." Shuuichi dropped to his knees, shaking uncontrollably. Eiri knelt beside him, and Shuuichi groped blindly for him, clinging like a man drowning when Eiri pulled him close. "I didn't know, Yuki," he whispered. "I never imagined. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry."

"Idiot." he murmured back, and because, dammit, Shu deserved to hear it: "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I knew you were hurting and I let you get away." He paused, then said, pointedly: "But I'd rather smear Aizawa's face into the gutter."

Liquid amethyst eyes blinked at him. "How... I mean, what are you talking about? Who?"

Eiri brushed the tears from his cheeks. "The answer was pretty obvious, once I heard your side of the story. The ass is crowing his way around NG as if he's the crown prince to Ryuichi's kingdom."

Shuuichi chewed his lip.

"Don't worry, brat. One call to Touma, and he's yesterday's news."

"He took pictures..."

"So I gathered. I told you: we'll take care of it." Eiri stood up, drawing Shuuichi with him. "C'mon. Let's go."

"I...can we stop by my home...on the way? So I can talk to my mom?"

Shindou's hiss interrupted. "Go with this man, Shuuichi, and you have no mother. You certainly have no _home."_

Shuuichi shuddered, then straightened to stare squarely at his father. "I _will_ go with him, father, and if you want to keep me from talking to mom, you'll have to call the police to keep me out of the house."

Oh, good call, brat, Eiri thought, seeing Shindou's indecision. But:

"Don't worry, Dad," Shuuichi said, his infinitely forgiving voice turning soft, gentle. "I'll tell her I asked you not to say anything. And you don't have to worry about my...intruding any longer on the household. I just want to see her ... let her know I'm all right."

"All right? With this _man?"_

Shuuichi turned to face him, staring up at him searchingly. "Will I be all right, Yuki?"

"No promises, Shu. Not with you and me, not with NG. Life's a crap shoot."

That searching look drifted out across the maze of steel. "Or...a catwalk. Sometimes... you just fall off."

Eiri caught his chin and turned that searching gaze back to himself. "And sometimes," he said firmly, "there's someone there to catch you."

Another searching look, then, in a tiny whisper: "Kiss me?"

In front of his father. In front of this hard-core construction crew.

_Kiss me. Catch me. Before I fall . . ._

He cradled Shuuichi's face between his palms and bent his head.

FIN—for now

✴✴✴ ✴✴✴ ✴✴✴

**A/N:** This is the end of the original story, but as I rewrote for posting, more story is happening, (Eiri started thinking too much about that past of his, and the parallel between their lives has become an issue that really needs addressing now.) so eventually I'll be posting a second section. However, writing time is currently at a premium, so not sure when I'll get at it.

Also, please, please, _please_ if you find continuity errors or sentences that don't make sense or anything that just seems out of left field, please let me know. This chapter has seen several incarnations and I'm reading snowblind now. As with all my stuff, it's not been beta'd, so _please_ let me know so I can fix it. THANKS! As always, I love reviews (I'm only human) but mostly, please enjoy. —Vin

**Reviews:** All of you who have left reviews I LOVE YOU! I wish I had time to respond, but I thought I'd better get this posted while I had the chance.


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